Opheliac Angel
by TheYmp
Summary: Castiel is resurrected after being killed by Lucifer, but soon finds himself drowning in the responsibilities of Heaven, while protecting Dean becomes an obsession. Spoilers from S5E22: Swan Song and on through S6. Dedicated to OpheliacAngel. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Castiel is resurrected after being killed by Lucifer, but soon finds himself drowning in the responsibilities of Heaven, while protecting Dean becomes an obsession. Spoilers from S5E22: Swan Song and on through S6.**

**This is dedicated to OpheliacAngel who kindly allowed me to borrow her name for the title of this fanfic. It's also thanks to her that I 'discovered' Emilie Autumn, and the song "Opheliac" which is the inspiration for this story that was conceived before the season 6 finale (**_**Yes, I am that slow at writing**_**).**

"_**He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.**_**" Friedrich Nietzsche**

"_**He who does not punish evil, commands it to be done.**_**" Leonardo da Vinci**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter One**

"Hey ass-butt," Castiel yelled at Michael as he hurled the flask of holy oil. He couldn't believe what he was doing - it was as if he were watching someone else - and it made him spare a brief sympathetic thought for his own vessel, Jimmy. The projectile hit the intended target and Castiel watched, stunned as the mystical flames consumed the screaming archangel.

"You've got your five minutes," he smiled at Dean, already guessing at his own fate, and wishing beyond hope that the elder Winchester would finally appreciate the latest in the many, many sacrifices he had made for him.

Lucifer, firmly ensconced in the body of Sam Winchester, rounded on the younger angel, "Did you just Molotov my brother - with holy fire?" he growled.

_What would Dean do?_ thought Castiel. He had a sudden desperate desire to impress his human friend in what he suspected were about to be his final moments. _A quip, I need a devil-may-care quip_, he thought. "Er, no", was all he could think to say.

"No one dicks with Michael, but me," said Lucifer, radiating an expression of menace that had never before been seen on Sam's face.

_As above, so below - this is just Sam and Dean all over again_, thought Castiel.

In a satanic burst of everlasting agony, each individual atom of Castiel's body and angelic essence was ripped apart and scattered to every time and corner of the universe.

Somehow Castiel was still able to sense Dean's thoughts of anguish at his sudden demise, and he felt the righteous love that only a true martyr can know - although he did feel cheated of the epic death-scene he'd always imagined would be their one-and-only chance to express their true feelings for each another. A mere second later he heard Dean call "Sammy?", and at that Castiel welcomed the agonizing death by vaporization, if only to put a stop to the stark sting of rejection.

~#~

Many aeons later a vague presence, with only a tenuous awareness of having once being Castiel, coalesced at a place that could only be described as _no-where_ and _no-when_.

He was greeted and comforted by an immense spiritual being that seemed to have been waiting for him. It was like staring into the Sun and, on noticing Castiel's discomfort, the being cupped him in the metaphysical palm of its hand to shield him from its blinding radiance. Castiel felt strong comforting waves of joy and love emanate from the being as it started the long process of recreating him.

"We can rebuild him...we have the technology," giggled the glorious, transcendent being, "We can make him better than he was. Better...stronger...faster."

From his time on earth with the Winchesters, Castiel had become inured to missing the cultural reference component in almost all conversation and so he didn't give it a second thought. "Are you God?" he asked in awe.

The illustrious being was far, far too powerful to comprehend - even with Castiel's angelic senses that continued to improve at an almost alarming rate. All Castiel could absorb was the crude translated equivalent of a beautiful, grinning mouth and an impression of a shrug followed by vigorous nodding.

As Castiel's rebirth neared completion he realized with a shock that as well as now being an angel of unsurpassed power, he was no longer just pure energy – he now had a permanent corporeal form so he would always manifest on the material plane in a body looking like Jimmy Novak. He had grown fond of the appearance of his vessel, and it pleased him to think that he could retain the familiar visage without pulling Jimmy back from his well deserved reward in Heaven.

His body thrummed in time with the Universe as all energy flowed through his ethereal veins - and for a brief eternal moment the entirety of creation revolved around him.

"Lord, you have truly raised this unworthy one. How may I serve you?" he prayed.

Divine instruction took the form of a _single_ Word.

Castiel cried out in pure joy as his being resonated in time to the sound of the _name_ that he already carried in his heart.

~#~


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Two**

With his new and improved senses Castiel was aware, in almost _excruciating_ detail, of the life force of every single living creature that had, or could, or would, have walked the earth. He struggled to rein in his focus until at last he found himself standing in a field by a car and a badly beaten human.

It all seemed so vague, like the memory of the description of someone else's strange dream. Castiel stared in confusion at the man bowed down before him, and it was only after several long minutes that he realized it was someone he hadn't seen for many millennia.

"Cas, you're alive?" the man whispered the question in wonder through the pain of a severe beating, his features swollen and obscured with rivulets of blood.

"I'm better than that," the angel answered with no false pride as he placed a loving touch of his hand to Dean's forehead and in an instant healed him of even his most minor aches and pains. As the super-charged surge of love and strength ran through his body, Dean had never felt so strong and so _alive_ in his entire life.

Dean climbed to his feet and gazed at the angel as if he was seeing him for the first time, the angel who seemed so much more serene than usual. "Cas, are you God?" he asked in awe, feeling like he was teetering on the knife-edge of insanity.

Cas gave a small tranquil smile, "It's a nice compliment, but no," he answered, his mind returning to his encounter with the extraordinary being that had recreated him, "Although I do believe he brought me back," he added with a slight edge of excitement to his voice.

He turned and walked away from Dean, shaking his head in wonder. "New and improved," he said to himself.

He knelt down over Bobby's body and with a single touch brought him back from the dead. Castiel was hit with a sudden, profound prophetic vision and was humbled at the realization of the age of the soul and the great destiny of the holy man in front of him. As Bobby sat up in confusion, Castiel gave him a single nod, an exchange of greeting between equals.

~#~

Later in the Impala, Castiel felt relief that Bobby had decided to make his own way home - he'd struggled not to stare at the halo that it was apparent only he could see over Bobby's head. Future holy man or not, it was obvious the older man had felt some discomfort at the steady, unblinking angelic gaze fixed six inches above his head.

"What you gonna do now?" asked Dean, breaking the flow of Castiel's train of thought.

"Return to heaven I suppose," the angel replied in distraction.

"Heaven?" Dean responded, his voice sounding much higher and tighter than usual.

"I... I know you've been through a lot - I want to, but I _can't_ stay. With Michael in the cage, it'll be total anarchy up there and somebody needs to keep a watch on things," countered Castiel, desperate to try to mollify the feelings he realized he'd just hurt.

"So what, you're the new sheriff in town?" the hunter mocked.

Cas looked over at Dean, and gave a small smile as a strange prescient vision bubbled up at the back of his mind. He had a sudden, vivid image of the hunter costumed in a six year old's idea of how a cowboy should dress, with a bright gold star pinned to his lapel.

"I like that, yeah," he said absently, an odd little shiver running up his spine. "I suppose I am," he added coming back to the moment.

"Well, God gives you a brand new shiny set of wings and suddenly you're his bitch again," grumbled Dean.

"I don't know what… God… wants," said Castiel, not being entirely truthful, thinking back to the resplendent, yet terrifying superior being that had recreated him, "I don't know if he'll even return. It just… seems like the right thing to do."

_And the best way to keep you safe_, he added to himself, too ashamed to want to say that Heaven was likely the biggest threat, and knowing that Dean would deny he needed the protection in any case.

"Well, if you do see him, you tell him I'm coming for him," Dean raged, lashing out in pain without really knowing the truth or the meaning of what he was saying.

"You're angry," Cas responded, his voice quiet as another flash of future knowledge flickered through his mind, this time the vision just seemed _disturbing_. It went too quickly for him to take in, but left him with a disconcerting sense, like a bad taste in the mouth, that he'd somehow made the wrong choice or taken the wrong path home.

"That's an understatement," laughed Dean without a hint of humor, again breaking Cas' train of thought.

"He helped," Castiel answered, desperate to get through to the hunter, "Maybe even more than we realize."

"That's easy for you to say. He brought you back. But what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole!"

"You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same," said the angel, now starting to get annoyed, "I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?"

Dean glanced over in the angel's direction, somehow sensing that Cas was gone before seeing, or rather not seeing it, with his eyes, "Well, you really suck at goodbyes, you know that?"

~#~

Castiel looked down from heaven at Dean, regretting the need for his sudden departure, but eager to try to figure out how to serve what little of God's plan had been revealed to him so far.

However, the first thing he decided to do was to divest himself of some of the power he'd been given – as intoxicating as it was, he felt like he was going to blow apart at the seams, and the constant but fleeting religious revelation persistently lapping at the edges of his mind was distracting to say the least.

The second thing he needed to do was arm himself against the angels he knew would already be actively working to bring the apocalypse back on track; even he'd been around humans long enough to realize that the best defense is a good offense, and if he could combine all of this with the first task, then so much the better.

Focusing and siphoning off some his energies, Cas visualized someone with the wisdom to see the signs, the cunning to navigate the treacherous waters of angelic politics, and the ability to bring him the things he needed. Castiel's lips twitched in wry humor as his creation came into being, "I name thee Balthazar," he intoned.

"Now bring me gifts, wise man," he laughed.

~#~


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**A/N: Thanks for all the words of encouragement, reviews, alerts and favourites...**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Three**

God had been quite clear about _who_ was important, but He'd been rather vague regarding the end game, and He'd also been pretty high-level in terms of mapping out the individual steps that He'd expected of Castiel. Cas was a good foot soldier and following orders was what he was good at, and although under the previous regime he'd rebelled as a matter of conscience, you'd only had to look at him during that period to realize that the pressure of the big decisions didn't sit well on his shoulders.

However, such thoughts were forgotten following his triumphant return to heaven, the vast majority of the angelic host had welcomed Castiel with open wings, now more than willing to accept him as the new leader of the Kingdom, subject to God's return of course. Castiel's name was now legend, and the celestial paradise rang to the triumphant roar of Heaven's throng. They were more than relieved to be spared a thousand years of bloody war on earth against the hordes of Hell and so sang his praises that were both loud and jubilant.

"Castiel, the defender of humanity, favored of God, raiser of the righteous man, nemesis of Lucifer and thwarter of the Apocalypse," the Metatron had bellowed as Castiel walked, blushing furiously, into the throne room.

Raphael, who had appeared to be getting quite comfortable on said throne, had been significantly less welcoming.

There had been whispers about the fate of the prophet who had disappeared during Raphael's watch. The archangel had _claimed_ that Chuck had ascended, but there was no record of his arrival in heaven, and angels were nothing if not meticulous in their record keeping, leading many to suspect foul play.

"Ah, _little_ Castiel. Have you tired of playing in the dirt with your monkeys?" mocked the elder angel.

Castiel had bristled at the tone, "I think you'll find that those 'monkeys' as you call them, are actually the favored of our father, and the only reason he still tolerates our presence."

Raphael sighed in faux-boredom, "If you say so, _fledgling_. Since God obviously can't be _bothered_ to speak to us directly, despite _millennia_ of obedient behavior, it would make sense that we should follow your _whim_ on what you _guess_ the father you've never actually met might want us do next," he said, the sarcasm dripping like venom from his tongue.

Castiel was stunned by the sheer vitriol in the voice of the venerated archangel. He stood there numb, feeling as if he had been cast adrift at sea.

Raphael laughed at Castiel's expression, "Oh, I've hit a nerve! Poor befuddled, confused, Castiel, don't you realize that we've moved on, that we're now far from the simple instruments that our father created? We will no longer serve the wishes of an absentee parent, we have our own grand design. Namely the total annihilation of the human vermin that crawl across the surface of the earth, destroying and polluting everything in their wake. Mark my words Castiel, humanity's days are numbered."

With the sound of beating wings Raphael was gone and, thanks to his poisonous words, so too was the support of Castiel from most of the throng of elder angels.

And so the civil war in heaven began.

~#~

Castiel felt overwhelmed with the demands placed on him by the Heavenly Host for guidance against the incursions from Raphael's rebels. He felt as if he was barely keeping his head above water, but with the stakes so high and with being humanity's only defense from obliteration he felt like he had little choice, but to try to carry on.

Finally he could take it no longer and returned to earth as gazing at the magnificence of Dean's soul had always brought him a most profound sense of peace. What he discovered instead was of no comfort; a broken man, with shattered dreams, going through the empty, repetitive motions of an unfulfilling sham of a life that brought no real measure of happiness.

Castiel yearned to make himself known to _his_ hunter, but he knew that to do so would be just the most callow selfishness on his part. With the current instability of his position in heaven he would only be placing Dean, and Dean's new family, in a most vulnerable position at a time when the young man still needed plenty of time and rest to fully recover from mental wounds that were beyond even Castiel's considerable powers to heal.

As he watched them, Castiel could see that although Lisa and Dean had a great affection for one another, and despite the fact that their occasional physical relationship brought them some solace, they did not truly share a passionate love.

Lisa certainly seemed to be under no illusions as to the nature of their relationship; she made no great demands on Dean, and simply appeared to enjoy the time they had together, for however long that might be.

Both Lisa and Castiel could see the rapport that Dean has soon developed with Lisa's son. Ben, with his wide-eyed adoration, was almost instantly adopted as a surrogate younger brother, as the now _ex_-hunter quickly settled into the familiar role of older brother that he'd played so well for the majority of his life. But Castiel sensed that in some strange way this almost seemed to make things worse, as almost everything Ben did or said seemed to remind Dean of some aspect of his previous life with Sam. And so each new moment of happiness carried its own corresponding payload of pain.

There was still a solid ball of grief at the core of Dean's soul that didn't seem to be able to heal itself, and even Castiel with his limited understanding of human emotion could see that Dean was hurting and so obviously just going through the motions.

Night after night Cas stood by, invisible to all, watching as Dean padded round and round the perimeter of the home like a caged tiger, checking and double checking the security, before climbing into bed to lie awake staring up at the ceiling, while Lisa slept turned away from him.

The more Castiel watched the more disillusioned he felt. It was clear that Dean needed help, he needed a friend, and as much as Castiel pined to be that friend, Dean would only feel compelled to try to help with Cas' own problems.

Dean's life was _adequate_ and the events in Heaven should no longer be his concern, it was all beyond his power anyway, and would only put him into further danger. Castiel knew without doubt that he wouldn't be able to cope with Dean's death on his conscience and could only hope that in the end, when Dean looked back on his life he would see that it had been for the best.

The solution was obvious. Knowing how much the brothers were a part of one another, Castiel decided to use a significant portion of his remaining power to retrieve Sam from Lucifer's cage. He was less than impressed with the end result, as the resurrected younger Winchester no longer seemed to care about the wellbeing of his older brother.

While they have never exactly seen eye-to-eye before, Sam had at least always seemed to respect Castiel's position as an angel of the Lord, but no longer; nor did he seem to appreciate the difficulties of Castiel's new position as defender of Heaven. Castiel tried one last time to impress upon Sam the seriousness of the current situation.

"The angels were created by God to be His servants. They have rebelled; they feel they have 'evolved'. There are many of them and they have a plan," explained Cas.

"Hmm, sounds vaguely familiar, isn't that a plot to some old TV show remake?" laughed Sam, walking away from Lisa Braeden's house, totally disinterested in either battling a war in heaven, or fixing a weak and useless older brother.

~#~

"Well, that didn't turn out very well, did it feathers?" smirked Crowley, stepping part out of the shadows, but still keeping what he considered a safe distance away from the angel. He would have been shocked if he had discovered just how much he had seriously underestimated his safety zone.

Castiel just glared at him, and started to walk away.

"I've had my people watching you since you've been back, you're different. Whoever it was did the Lazarus job on you certainly reinforced the ol'vessel, didn't they? Hear you're quite the Boy Wonder these days. Impressive, but you're still not quite Trenchcoat Crusader enough to stop them bringing the apocalypse back online though, are you?" Crowley called after him.

Castiel paused, "What do you want, demon?" he growled, now more than ready to smite the self-proclaimed King of the Crossroad.

"Souls, mate. Lots and lots of luv-er-ly souls. Without them everything you've worked for - everything that _Dean's_ worked for - gone. You can save us, Cas. You're special, you know it - God _chose you_ to save us. Let me, help you, help us all," explained Crowley using all his powers of persuasion.

"How?" asked Castiel curious, despite himself.

"Purgatory. Chock-a-block full of every clawed, fanged, and differently-winged soul that's ever died. They're not destined to go up to Daddy, or down to the devil, so who's gonna miss them?"

Castiel shook his head, "You'd have to find it first," he said dismissing the idea as nonsense.

"Oh, don't worry about the details, Guv. I thought we'd leave that to your Best Boy, he's a dab hand at six impossible things before breakfast," Crowley chuckled.

"No! Not Dean, he's… retired, and he's to stay that way," cried Castiel, angry at the thought of the demon causing the hunter any more pain.

"Okay, okay! How about the moose, and his ol'Gramps?" he said, quick to placate the angel.

Castiel nodded, but then narrowed his eyes at the demon in suspicion, "And what exactly is _your_ price in all of this?"

"Just half," sniffed Crowley as if it was no big thing.

"Okay," agreed Castiel after a moment.

"Oh no, sweetie. That's not how one makes a deal," smirked Crowley, putting on a grand show of licking his lips.

~#~


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Four**

Castiel returned to heaven feeling soiled from his deal with Crowley and washed out from his failure to reunite the Winchester brothers. He found Phanuel, the last of the archangels to support him, waiting for him in the shattered ruins of the former throne room.

The ancient being gave a reproachful look at the now much weakened younger angel with the sullied grace. "General, the others have departed to Raphael's camp. I need to respectfully withdraw from this battle, but I will return when you have need for me later. Once this is all over, Castiel," said the angel of repentance in sadness, before disappearing with a thunderous clap of beating wings.

Cas buried his face in his hands and wept tears the like of which hadn't been seen since the flood.

~#~

A considerable while later and someone clearing their throat caught Castiel's attention from his grief. Castiel pushed his sadness and despair down deep, as he had learned from Dean. _Begone, buried, gone_, he chanted to himself seeking, and somehow finding, a modicum of calm within himself.

He looked up at the interloper, "Yes?" he asked his voice cold. It was Balthazar, who had been missing for months.

"My Lord General," Balthazar smirked, the scorn clear in his voice somehow turning the honorific into an insult. Castiel bristled at the angel's sarcastic tone,

"I come bearing gifts as requested, I have Death's sickle, Thor's hammer, the Spear of Destiny, and the Tears of Tlaloc," continued Balthazar with all the emotion of reciting a grocery list.

"A heathen rain-god... a fitting punishment," muttered Castiel to himself. "Give me the Tears," he commanded, snatching a crude necklace of teardrop-shaped glass beads from Balthazar's hand.

He focused the power from the beads against the remains of God's throne and watched in glee as the resulting lightning strike made it explode into powdered dust.

"Is this really necessary?" whispered Balthazar, cross with himself for the slight quake of fear in his voice as he spoke to his General.

"The Lord resurrected me for the sole purpose of protecting Dean Winchester. What do _you_ think?" asked Castiel his voice heavy with sarcasm, while absently waving the necklace in Balthazar's direction.

Balthazar bowed low and got out of there as quick as his wings could carry him.

It was a short time afterwards that Balthazar was reported as missing in action.

~#~

Castiel returned from the garrison citadel he'd grown up in, heartbroken that he'd needed to smite it, due to their continued stubborn defiance against taking sides in the civil war. He _knew_ that they had been plotting against him behind his back, everyone of them his enemy, waiting for a moment of distraction to make their move. Thanks to the power arsenal of weapons he now possessed, not one of the ten thousand angel occupants had survived to further threaten his charge's safety.

One of the lowliest of the New Angelic Order had flown in and thrown himself at Castiel's feet. Trembling and lying prostrate on the ground, the young fledgling had delivered his message being careful to avoid eye contact, "Lord General Castiel, I bring grave news, Dean Winchester was under attack from Djinn, but the _abomination_ saved him. They are now travelling together again." his voice quavered in terror at being the bearer of such bad news.

"How did this happen?" raged Castiel, kicking out in anger at the angel at his feet, "I gave strict instructions that Dean was to be protected from his brother at all costs," he screamed in terror at the thought of Dean in his current vulnerable state being at the mercy of whatever it was that Cas had inadvertently brought back from Hell.

The angel doubled over on the floor, writhing in agony from the broken ribs inflicted by his master's attack. "Apologies, but the ones tasked with the duty defected to Raphael's camp," gasped the angel in agony.

"Traitor, enough of your poor excuses," spat Castiel. He clicked his fingers and walked through the gore spatter that was all that remained of the angel he'd just destroyed.

"I need angels that are obedient, dedicated and loyal. Like I am to Dean," Castiel muttered to himself. He focused his powers for a moment, then regarded his latest angelic creation. "I will call you Rachel," he said to her, cupping her face in his hand with an expression of love. As he walked away he struggled to avoid staggering from the sudden drain on his power.

~#~

Leaving Rachel to continue the fight for heaven, Castiel had rushed to earth, but soon realized that his charge was not in any immediate danger. Instead he'd hovered tortured with indecision, too apprehensive to leave Dean unprotected, but also too anxious to reveal himself after such a long time away.

He'd chewed his nails down to the quick at the thought of what the elder Winchester would make of his recent actions. "For Dean, for Dean, for Dean - let us do evil, that good may come," he chanted to himself, but lacking the courage of his convictions to face the hunter. He felt that the guilt was writ large and plain on his face, and he couldn't bear the thought - that he _knew_ - that Dean would reject him because of his actions, and so he kept his distance by flying back to the midst of battle in heaven, just in time to reduce yet another rebel citadel to rubble.

But Castiel at long last felt the pull of a summons from Dean. He instantly vaporized the angel he had been torturing for information on Raphael's current whereabouts and flew directly to be by his hunter's side. His heart and grace sang out with the purest joy to be in Dean's presence once more, regardless of the less than salubrious surroundings he found himself in. The company certainly left something to be desired too.

"So what, you like him better or something?" mocked the creature posing as Sam.

Cas gave a mental shudder at the presence of the thing he'd retrieved from Hell. He wondered at just how exhausted he must have been to have ever thought that it was really Sam.

"Dean and I do share a more profound bond. I wasn't going to mention it," he said to mollify Dean. _Say a word about me resurrecting you and I __**will**__ end you_, he psychically sent to Sam.

The Sam-thing snorted, _As if Dean would let you, but thanks for confirming your Achilles heel_, it sent back with its latent-demonic telepathic ability.

Dean somehow seemed to sense the unspoken antagonism between the two and felt the need to intervene, "Cas, look, if Sam calls, you answer. Okay? Just because we have some sort of a - a bond or whatever..."

"You think I came just because you called?" Castiel lied in defense and out of irritation at still having that _thing_ put before him in Dean's affections. _What is wrong with him, can't he see it's not his brother?_

"I came because of the case you're working on," continued Castiel, trying to rein in his temper while flicking through the coroner's reports of the police officers killed in what could only be described as biblical plagues.

"Oh, well, it's nice to know what matters," Dean half-joked, wondering what on earth – or in Heaven - had happened to the Cas he used to know and... well... know.

"These killings were committed with one of my... our weapons. There's only one thing that could have done this. You would call it the Staff of Moses," explained a weary Castiel.

"Before the apocalypse, Heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable. It's been chaos up there since, and in the confusion a number of powerful weapons were... stolen," added Cas. He thought it best not to admit that it was him that had arranged for their theft in the first place.

"Wait - you're saying your nukes are loose?" asked Dean in horror.

~#~

It wasn't long until the Winchesters tracked down the culprit to a young boy with a thirst for revenge and the sudden means to achieve it.

"It was an angel," answered Aaron with a mixture of equal defiance and terror.

"An angel?" repeated Dean, not quite able to process what he was hearing. Behind him an anxious Castiel fidgeted.

"Those cops killed my brother, and nothing bad even happened to them. It's not fair. So I prayed to God every night he would punish them, but he didn't answer. But the angel did."

"His name - did he give you a name?" asked Castiel, the blood pounding in his temples.

"No. He just said I could have justice, but I was gonna have to take it myself. He... he gave me the stick," answered Aaron.

"He just... gave it to you? Ah, come on. He didn't just give it to you, did he, Aaron? What did the angel want for it? What did you give him for it?"

"My soul," Aaron said in a small voice.

"You sold your soul to an angel?" Sam cut in, the surprise crystal clear in his voice.

Dean turned to Castiel, "Can that even happen?" he asked in disbelief.

Castiel felt faint, "It's never happened before. An angel dealing in souls," he lied, sure that the brothers could see the guilt as clear as day on his face.

Scared of what the boy might say next, Castiel pressed his fingers to Aaron's forehead and zapped him into unconsciousness.

"If the angel we seek truly bought this boy's soul then it will have left a mark, a brand, but I can read it and find the name," explained Castiel.

"How?" asked Dean, his voice a little shrill. He felt too embarrassed to ask if the handprint on his shoulder, from when Cas had pulled him from Hell, meant he now belonged to the angel. He wasn't quite sure what he would want the answer to be.

"Well, painfully for him. The reading will be excruciating agony," admitted the angel, reluctant to share all the details.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, you're gonna torture a kid?" cried Dean panicked at what he was hearing, and looking at Cas as if he were a stranger.

"I can't care about that, Dean. I don't have the luxury," argued Castiel. He had his suspicions as to the identity of the culprit and regardless of how much his methods might upset Dean, he needed to know the truth. He pushed his hand into Aaron's chest making the boy wake and scream in agony, while Sam held Dean back from interfering.

"Did you get a name?" asked Sam eager for answers, while Dean pushed his hands away and glared at him in unspoken disgust.

"Balthazar, I thought he'd died in the war..." murmured Castiel.

"So we can find him now, right?" asked Sam.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What about the boy?" asked Dean, feeling like he'd wandered into a remake of _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_.

"Don't you think the police will take him home?" answered Castiel, disinterested in the boy's fate and not noticing the look of revulsion that Dean sent in his direction.

~#~

Castiel had made an ad-hoc adaptation to an old Enochian summoning spell to pull him and the Winchesters to Balthazar and he'd been rather pleased with the results. He hadn't been so happy to run into a band of rebel angels, but they'd made swift work of them and then Balthazar had redeemed himself in Castiel's eyes by coming to his aid and transforming Raphael's vessel into a pillar of salt.

"You came back," said a delighted Castiel, confused by Balthazar's actions, but touched that his creation had returned to save his life.

"Well, now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel. Should give me a nice long head start on him. Until next time," replied Balthazar, showing off and smug at his own cleverness.

"Next time," Castiel repeated, feeling crushed and foolish to have thought that Balthazar cared.

Balthazar looked at his creator in worry, sensitive to the sudden sea-shift change in tone - wondering what he'd said to upset him.

Dean took advantage of the angel's distraction to throw his lighter onto the oil he'd arranged earlier, and watched in satisfaction as it exploded into a circle of flame surrounding Balthazar.

"Holy fire? You hairless ape, release me this instant!" screeched Balthazar in frustration - still worried at Castiel's mood he'd been on the verge of fleeing.

"First you're taking your claim off the kid's soul," Dean demanded.

"Oh, am I?" spluttered an enraged Balthazar.

Sam stepped forward shaking a bottle of holy oil, "Unless you like your wings extra crispy, I'd think about it.

Balthazar turned away from Sam in revulsion, recognizing him in an instant as a soulless abomination, and instead glared at the other angel, "Castiel, after all I did for you in Heaven? Look, I'm sorry, but I was scared. Are you gonna let -"

"I believe... the hairless ape has the floor," said Castiel without expression, staring down at the ground in a bid to avoid eye contact.

Balthazar sighed, "Very well. The boy's debt is cleared. His soul is his own."

"Why are you buying human souls, anyway?" asked Dean with a horrible feeling he was losing the plot.

Balthazar looked at Castiel with a small pleading expression, before turning back to the hunter when he got no response, "In this economy? Do you have any idea what souls are worth? I've done what you asked - now release me... _please_,"

"Suck it, ass clown. Nobody said anything..." said Dean.

Castiel motioned with his hand and the flames lowered and flickered before going out.

"My debt to you is cleared," Castiel said to Balthazar for the benefit of the Winchesters_. I will speak with you later_, he sent with his mind.

Balthazar vanished with the sound of an explosion of wings.

"Cas, are you out of your mind?" asked Dean in disbelief.

"I need him Dean. The war... it's not going well... and well, needs must."

"What has happened to you?" asked Dean, his voice tight and eyes damp.

Cas looked down at his feet, stung by Dean's words. There was so much he wanted to say.

_Why won't God speak to me? Has he abandoned me, doesn't he love me? I have so many people dependent on me and I'm just a soldier, I just want to be told what to do. What should I do, Dean? Please, __**please**__, tell me what to do._

Unable to bring himself to speak, Castiel fled.

~#~


	5. The Song of Balthazar

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Five (The Song of Balthazar)**

Castiel was worried about Balthazar's recently behavior and his level of trustworthiness. The newly minted angel had already proved to be of immeasurable value in retrieving the weapons of heaven, but with his disrespectful attitude and tendency to go AWOL, doing who knows what, he was not quite the obedient servant intended. _Souls, he's after the souls_, thought Castiel, _probably trying to secure his position against me_.

Since Castiel had created Balthazar, he had felt... different, somehow... less. He couldn't quite explain the feeling, but he suspected that his excess power wasn't the only thing to have been siphoned off, and that perhaps his personality was somehow affected.

As if on cue, Balthazar strutted in while singing in a beautiful crystal-clear tenor,

"_But thou didst not leave his soul in Hell,  
><em>_Thou didst not leave,  
><em>_Thou didst not leave His soul in Hell,  
><em>_Nor didst Thou suffer Thy Holy One to see corruption..._"

He stopped singing in mid-flow, "Oh, Cassie didn't see you there, don't you just _love_ Handel's _Messiah_?" he smirked with insincerity.

"Were you there when he composed it?" Balthazar asked, curious despite himself.

Castiel pursed his lips in annoyance, "No, it was always the desire of the Host that I remain sequestered away from earth and all but my own garrison. As a special treat I was allowed out, under close supervision, only a handful of times for specific events. The eighteenth century wasn't one of them," he said bitterly.

Balthazar stood frozen for a moment in shocked sympathy, before forcefully pushing away the emotion, "_Aww_, so poor little Cassie wasn't allowed out to play with the other boys and girls?" he taunted. Sudden realization kicked in, "Oh! Until..."

"Dean," said Castiel with feeling, the sound of the name on his lips was like ointment for his soul.

He turned heavy lidded eyes onto his creation.

"Oh Balthazar, I gave you life, so why is it I think you're trying to end mine? I love you like a son, but if you betray me again, or hurt my beloved, I will destroy you," he warned.

Balthazar just scowled in response before flouncing out in a huff. He could feel a sudden migraine coming on.

~#~

Balthazar's head spun from the Enochian summoning ritual, but not so much that he couldn't glower at the tall oaf responsible, "Sam Winchester, this had better be good," he growled through the light aura and waves of nausea.

"I need your help, Balthazar," Sam said, the desperation clear in his voice.

"I think you've got the wrong angel," laughed Balthazar.

"I need some advice, angel advice"

"Well, then go ask your _boyfriend_," the angel answered. _How dare this __**abomination**__ speak to me as if we were friends?_

"I think you've got the wrong the brother," Sam complained.

"Hmmm, why is that d'you reckon? I mean you're better than your brother, aren't you? You're bigger, stronger, and more intelligent than everyone around you, so why didn't your father love you best, eh?

"You loved, you cared, you prayed, so why didn't _my_ father love you best? Are we sensing a pattern yet?

"So, why haven't _you_ got an angel to come running at your every beck and call?" Balthazar teased in anger, irritated that he didn't seem to be getting a rise out the hunter.

"Oh, Balthazar, I didn't know you cared," Sam said with a cold smile that didn't even attempt to reach his eyes.

"You know your problem, Sammy? You've got no _soul_," Balthazar smirked, then serious he continued, "I assume this is stop Mickey and Mallory putting it back?"

When Sam nodded, Balthazar signed, "Okay, I'll help you."

"Name your price," said Sam, mentally bracing himself.

"I'll do it for free."

"You will, why?" asked Sam, trying and failing to hide his surprise. Balthazar didn't seem the type to have a better nature, and he was too mercenary to offer freebies - that was the whole reason Sam has thought to approach him in the first place.

"It'll keep the boss distracted and off my back, and Heaven knows you've got _nothing_ I want," laughed Balthazar, not for a second realizing what a spectacular failure this was going to be.

~#~

Sam was back. He remembered falling into the pit and then... nothing. He didn't need a degree in _Deaneology_ to know that his older brother considered it a sacred duty to protect him from such inconvenient and hurtful things as _the truth_.

So, Sam was on the phone to Bobby; now there was a man who had elevated plain-speaking to an art form. He loved the gruff old man like a father, in many ways _more_ than his own father, but right now it was like talking to a stranger.

Sam's mind whirled as he wondered what on earth could have caused him to fall so far from the older man's affections.

"Call me if you need anything," said Bobby in clipped tones that seemed to mean the exact opposite, and he hung up before Sam could even answer or at least say goodbye.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes.

Bobby was no actor and it didn't take a genius to realize that both he and Dean were keeping something from him, and judging from the rictus-like grin Dean kept pulling every time he assured Sam that things were all _okay_, it was something bad. _Really_ bad.

After a moment of mental debate on the sin involved in tricking an angel, Sam decided he needed to know whatever the cost.

He called into the air, "Castiel, um...I'm back. So, if you got a minute..."

Despite an intense feeling of déjà vu that there wasn't going to be an answer, there was a sudden disturbance in the air and the sound of beating wings.

"Sam. It's so good to see you alive," said Castiel, his gravel-like voice thick with emotion. He was overjoyed to see Sam shining with the presence of a soul again, even if it was tattered at the edges and oddly muted from the wall Death had constructed.

Sam froze, already regretting what he was doing. The memories of killing Cas were too fresh in his mind and so crystal clear it felt like he, and not Lucifer, had done the deed.

"Yeah, you too," he answered, the feelings of guilt were so strong he felt physically sick and the words seem to catch in his throat.

Castiel walked over to him, and Sam looked on in horror as the angel held his arms out in an attempt to hug him.

That he was about to deceive this angel who was willing to forgive him for his own murder made the feelings of betrayal burn far worse than any half-remembered memories of Hell, and Sam sat down in a hurry.

"Um...Look, I-I would hug you, but-"

"-that would be awkward," answered Castiel, his heart heavy with the guilt of the agony that Sam must have suffered in the cage due to his repeated failures to save him.

"Um...Was a crazy year, huh? I-I-I just talked to Bobby. He-he told me everything that happened," lied Sam feeling like an absolute heel and half-expecting God to strike him down.

"Frankly, I'm surprised that you survived. I was begging Dean not to do it," admitted Castiel, regretting that his concern for the older brother's welfare had almost damned the younger one to an eternity in Hell.

"Yeah. No, I-I-I can understand that," replied Sam, wondering why Castiel hadn't wanted to save him. _It's like everyone's had a personality change while I've been away_, he thought.

"You know, it's a miracle it didn't kill you."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's a miracle, all right," _What on earth is he talking about?_

"So, how does it feel?"

"What?"

"Well, to have your soul back, of course."

Sam felt light headed and was glad he was already sitting down. Struggling to breathe normally, it was like he'd been sucker punched in the stomach.

"Right. 'Cause I was walking around with... _no soul_. Uh... real good, Cas. I'm real good. You know what? I'm just a little hazy on a few of the details, though. You think you could maybe walk me through?" he answered in a weak voice.

With a sinking feeling Castiel realized he'd been tricked, but decided that it was the least he could do to tell Sam the truth he deserved, and he would just have to try and make it up to Dean later.

~#~

Dean had been philosophical about Sam learning the truth - despite the constant teasing he inflicted he'd never been able to deny his younger sibling anything, but then he'd told Castiel what 'Soulless Sam' had tried to do to Bobby.

Suspicious, Castiel had soon found the evidence of an angel summoning and had added two and two together to equal Balthazar. Incandescent with rage over Balthazar's actions, Castiel kicked in the door and stormed into Balthazar's hotel room.

Balthazar flinched, shocked into inaction, it had never even crossed his mind that Sam would fail to kill Bobby or that his role in it would be found out. Desperate with fear his eyes flicked around the room and his mind whirled as he tried to think of some way to escape the fate he was certain Castiel had in store for him.

In an instant Castiel had grabbed Balthazar by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him into the nearest wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Castiel held him there, suspended in the air, as his furious gaze burned into Balthazar's eyes.

"Why did you do it, Balthazar?" asked Castiel in honest confusion, "Why would you interfere, why would you want to hurt Bobby?"

"_First Corinthians, chapter 6_ ring any bells? Well, the bit before he started ad-libbing, anyway," Balthazar replied, for once in a serious tone of voice, the fear of an inescapable and imminent death making him feel brazen.

Castiel's eyes widened and the blood seemed to drain from his face as his grasped the relevance of the biblical reference. Castiel lowered the angel back to his feet, but still held a firm grip on him.

"You mean..."

"You mean you could _seriously_ put such a profound vision out of your mind? Surely that revelation was sufficiently strong that you didn't pass _all_ of it to me when you created me?" Balthazar huffed, "No, I'm just the dumping ground for all your _unwanted_ repressed urges, aren't I? Only, I'm just not as good at repressing them as you were, hmm?" he smiled, raising one eyebrow with a twinkle in his eye.

"In retrospect, I should have given you some of my more sober characteristics", admitted Castiel, "but don't change the subject, what were you saying about Bobby?"

Balthazar twisted his face to give a tight, false smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Citadel of Records hasn't fallen to you yet, has it? Not one of your priorities, shame. A new record of prophecy was just revealed, an addendum to that new Gospel of Winchester. The '_Ass Whupping According to Saint Bobby_' would you believe – there's a title to render it to the Apocrypha for ever more. Guess who gets a name check?"

"So you thought you'd kill him before he achieves sainthood and damns you," finished Castiel.

"He's still got a little way to go first," agreed Balthazar, "But you know the other reason too – I have the memories of what you thought about doing to Sam"

Castiel scowled.

"No, I'm not talking about _that_", Balthazar teased, before continuing, "If you scar the vessel the soul can't be returned, and without a soul it's not much of a vessel is it? Instantly the apocalypse is derailed for good. And no amount of resurrection from the dead's going to fix patricide..."

"I would never..." started Castiel

"Oh, I know. But you didn't see fit to give _me_ your feelings for the Winchesters – well apart from the carnal ones anyway," he added with a saucy wink and a mimed kiss. No matter what, it seemed that he just couldn't resist mocking Cas.

"Listen, Cassie," he said, all earnest again, "I admit you scare the absolute bloody shit out of me, but I _am_ on your side, I actually _like_ it down here on earth, and don't fancy seeing it end in a rain of fire."

Castiel loosened his grip on Balthazar and leaned in close, right up to his face until they were almost touching.

"If you betray me, just one more time, I _will_ end you... _slowly_," Castiel hissed, then shoved the angel away from him so hard that Balthazar stumbled across the room and fell down to one knee. A dark part of Castiel was pleased to see his angel kneeling, head lowered, in a posture of respect, albeit accidental. _I could get used to this_, he thought.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," muttered Balthazar in relief and slight surprise at still being alive, while trying to regain some semblance of dignity as he smoothed his clothes and tried to control his shaking.

~#~

**A/N:**

**A sweet friend once wrote that Balthazar was proud of being "one of the 77 members of the Holy Choir of Cherubim in Heaven", and the idea has since stayed with me. Then a couple of tracks from Handel's Messiah (inc "But thou didst not leave his soul in hell") got mixed up in my Metallica MP3s – you just can't make up stuff like this. **

.

**The biblical verse responsible for Balthazar's attempts at patricide is part of Paul's letter to the church leaders at Corinth:**

**1 Corinthians 6: (KJV)  
><strong>**(2) Do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world?...  
><strong>**(3) Know ye not that we shall judge angels?...**

**The 'ad-libbing' comment is aimed at some of the later verses...**

**.**

**Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review, fave, or alert!**


	6. Balthazar's Day Off

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Six (Balthazar's Day Off)**

The day had had such an innocuous and promising start.

Balthazar had been having a lazy Sunday morning, sitting on a plush couch enjoying the warmth of the sun that streamed in through the wall-height windows of his hotel penthouse suite. He had his feet up reading the arts review section of the New York Times while eating the most divine cream cheese and lox bagel.

He waved goodbye to the attractive, but sheepish looking, twenty-something couple he'd met at a bar opening the night before, as they slunk from his bedroom and out of the door. Relieved they weren't going to disturb his peace and that he didn't have to try to make awkward conversation with them, a sentimental part of him was still touched that they'd departed holding hands.

_Oh well, either they've expanded on the bounds of their relationship or they'll never drink __**that**__ much again_, he chuckled to himself enjoying the memories of some of the more athletic aspects of the previous evening.

Balthazar had a sinking feeling at the sound of beating wings, but stood to greet his master whose presence he sensed in the doorway behind him. He struggled to hide the look of horror that flashed across his face as he took in Castiel's ruined appearance.

Swaying from side-to-side in an alarming manner, Castiel looked confused and glassy eyed. Balthazar rushed across the room in an instant, just in time to catch and lower Castiel to a waiting couch.

Balthazar stroked Castiel's brow, trying to comfort his master as he healed the worst of the physical trauma, as ever torn by the powerful and conflicting emotions of adoration and fear he felt for Castiel.

"Well you're in a right old mess, aren't you. What happened?" he asked.

For several long minutes Castiel just stared, his expression blank, making Balthazar wonder if his mind had finally gone.

"Raphael, who else?" Castiel said in a voice even rougher than usual, "He managed to get to me after I'd made preparations for our next attack, before I'd had a chance to recoup my energies."

Balthazar shook his head and threw his hands up in the air in a mix of frustration and despair, "Cassie, I've told you before. You're using too much of your power on creating new angels when we should concentrate on getting the existing ones back on our side."

Castiel closed his eyes for just a moment and gave a deep sigh at the familiar argument, "The existing regime is corrupt, Balthazar. In any case, they've proved they're all too set in their ways and would never accept me, a renegade – any more than they would have Lucifer. It's time the old order was swept away – God did it to humanity with the flood, now it's my turn with Heaven and my New Angelic Order."

"I worry about you," Balthazar fussed, forgetting himself and gripping Castiel by the shoulders, "Forget about the power - what exactly are _you_ losing every time you create a new one of us? How much personality and memories can you lose until you're no longer you?"

Castiel waved Balthazar's hands away in irritation, "Don't worry about that. If Raphael wins then that's the least of our worries," he grumbled.

"Ha! At the rate you're going through energy he's going to win by default."

Castiel gave a small grimace, "You might say I've got a small contingency fund, but it's proving a little more difficult to locate than I'd hoped. There's no other alternative, I just need to keep a low profile until I recover."

Balthazar had a sudden _eureka_ moment. He went back to the newspaper he'd been reading earlier and laid it out in front of Castiel.

"I have an idea," he smiled, "Look at this."

"_The State of Zombie Literature: An Autopsy_?" Castiel asked in confusion, reading the article at the top of the page.

"What? No, the next review down, about CERN and the breakthrough in quantum realities."

Castiel nodded, "I heard that when it first opened there was a full garrison prepped for deployment in case it tore a hole in reality."

"Well, that's pretty much my idea - alternate realities where souls might be available,"

Castiel's eyes widened in understanding, "A whole universe of souls with no angels, no demons. All those souls just going to waste..." he chuckled in uncharacteristic glee.

~#~

It proved far more difficult than hoped for to find a suitable alternate universe and, given the sheer amount of energy required to make such a crossing, there was really only one that was accessible. And so it was that Balthazar found himself listening in disbelief as Castiel commanded him to send Cas' beloved Winchesters into true torment – a world with no supernatural, no Heaven, no Hell, and no guaranteed way out.

Balthazar played his part well, luring Raphael's goons into attacking and convincing the brothers to jump through the angel enchanted window. He watched in fascination as they disappeared into the alternate universe as the glass shattered. A moment later there was a strange groaning noise and he looked on in open-mouthed surprise as with a loud snapping noise two bodies fell to the floor.

Balthazar approached the prone figures with caution until he realized that despite the differences in dress and hair style it was the Winchesters back again. Fearing that something had gone awry with the spell so soon, he almost didn't hear Castiel's entrance.

"I followed the directions to the letter," stuttered Balthazar, aware of Castiel's recent methods for dealing with those who failed him.

"I'm sure you did, as this isn't Dean and Sam," replied Castiel, "Look at their souls."

Balthazar concentrated on the men with his angelic vision and saw that Castiel was correct. The souls of the Winchesters seemed muted - their auras were less brightly colored and didn't extend as far from their bodies as would have been normal for a human. There was not the expected entanglement of tendrils between the two souls, which was unusual given what he'd heard about the Winchesters - it was almost like they weren't even brothers, let alone spiritually bonded.

He looked at Castiel in confusion, "They must be from the other universe."

"It's nothing to worry about, probably just the magic trying to keep some form of balance," dismissed Castiel.

"I'll ensure they're kept safe," said Balthazar smiling down at an unconscious 'Sam' as he confirmed that pulse and breathing were fine. _Fascinating_, he thought, _he's rather a fine specimen without the demon taint, although it's strange to see such a small soul in such a ridiculously large body_.

"Don't concern yourself with them," said Castiel, sounding a little breathless, "I'll take good care of them while you keep track of Raphael." He licked his lips as he added, "I'm sure they'll keep me entertained while I'm still recovering."

Balthazar felt sick. He ruffled _Sam's_ long hair in a gentle, affectionate goodbye, while knowing in his heart that the young man's fate was already sealed and that he wouldn't be seeing him again.

Not one to argue, Balthazar did as he was told and waited. He was relieved when the brothers proved to be as dependable as ever in extricating themselves from bizarre scrapes. The strength of the Winchester's souls had a pied piper-like effect on the souls in the other reality, those souls now trickled through the hole the brothers had punched between the universes to get back home.

Castiel glowed in contentment at the gradual influx of energy from the new souls, although he was a little disappointed that they were just a shadow of the power he'd have got from the equivalent in his own universe. He felt just a little guilty at consuming the life-force of otherwise good people, but in their universe there was no discernible afterlife - _probably_- so he comforted himself with the thought that at least they weren't going to waste.

It had been just enough to get him back on his feet to face Raphael, although he was relieved that he, or rather _she_, hadn't thought to call his bluff. He had Dean to thank for teaching him how to lie, and he seemed to be getting just better and better at it the more he practiced.

~#~

Castiel felt agitated, his headed pounded, his legs kept cramping, and his wings just wouldn't stop their twitching no matter how much he stretched them out. He felt empty and the souls from the alternative universe just weren't powerful enough to stop his craving.

Balthazar had rubbed his back to ease his pain, then when that didn't work had thoughtfully subverted the time-line to help take the edge off of Castiel's craving, but that stuck-up bitch Fate had interfered. _All for a mere fifty thousand souls. She and her sisters are so going to get what's coming to them._

For a brief period he'd actually felt almost normal, then he'd had to give the souls up. _Yet another sacrifice for the Winchesters, and what thanks do I get?_

When Rachel appeared he'd struggled to hide the worst of the cravings, although the pain made him irritable.

"We need to talk, Castiel. I've been hearing things. Things I don't want to believe. Just tell me if it's true," she said, her voice sounding shrill to his ears and making his head hurt even worse.

"If what's true?" he grouched, wincing at the sound of defensiveness he could detect in his own voice.

"You know. Your secret, your dirty little secret," said Rachel, ashamed of the unangelic feelings that made her eyes glisten.

"I have to defeat Raphael," he whined.

"Not this way, Castiel. We put our faith in you, and..._look_ what you're turning into," she said, the disgust and contempt clear in her voice, but it was her sense of disappointment in him that stung Castiel that most.

"I don't have a choice," he moaned.

"Then neither do I," Rachel wept, as she stabbed at Castiel with her angel blade.

Despite the pain of his injury, it wasn't too difficult for Castiel to pull the sword from Rachel's stricken grip before running her through with it.

As she died he made sure to absorb every last drop of energy he'd imbued her with. He was startled by the sudden flood of emotions that poured through his being and he realized with shame just how much of them he'd given up and what a massive impact it had had on his actions. He shuddered as he realized quite how far he'd gone beyond matching soulless Sam in terms of behavior.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

~#~

**Author Notes:**

**Thanks to FanFic I've discovered I've been misspelling and mispronouncing the word 'innocuous' my entire life as 'innoculous'.**

**.**

**The State of Zombie Literature: An Autopsy: http:/nyti{dot}ms/qSnHmw ****(NB: This site is tiresome with links - you need to edit that link to change the {dot} bit to just a real dot)**

**.**

**I don't generally have restful Sundays, nor do I read the newspaper, let alone the New York Times. I do however have an unnatural fondness for bagels, but not lox as I'm vegetarian. As a post-Sat/Sun morning-run reward, my preference is for a bagel with a mix of Skippy peanut butter and Nutella chocolate spread – yum!**

**.**

**I'm ridiculously fond of parallel universes, especially where these turn out to be fictional worlds - I read Robert Heinlein's 'Number of the Beast' at a very impressionable age. I'm ambivalent about RL-fic, as slash about real people seems a bit like bullying to me, but I always wondered what happened to J2 in 'The French Mistake'. Sorry guys!**


	7. How to Break a Heart

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Thanks for the reviews, faves, and alerts! (Lapse-Raevn, thanks for the review - you'll find out the truth very soon.)**

**Warning: This doesn't end well, so you may be better off reading **_**The Littlest Elf**_** instead.**

**"Just find a light, and switch it off" – Emilie Autumn, **_**How to Break a Heart**_**.**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Seven (How to Break a Heart)**

"What have I done?" asked Castiel in despair.

"I don't know what you mean," answered Balthazar too quickly to be believed, but somehow managing not to flinch despite his terror of his mercurial master.

It had been common knowledge for a while that Castiel had been consuming the souls of the human damned in ever increasing numbers. That Hell hadn't intervened only made it all the more obvious that there was some sort of _very_ high-level demonic deal going on.

He'd also heard talk of a recent purge of the New Angelic Order, the gossip was that those angels who exhibited the most human-like emotion were targets for the General's death squad.

Balthazar had noticed that Rachel, Castiel's trusted lieutenant was now conspicuous in her absence and he wondered if his own time was now up. Part of him almost hoped it was, living under the constant fear of Castiel striking him dead due to his ever increasing personality and mood swings was difficult to cope with. Despite this, his perverse sense of humor still managed to find it amusing that he feared being killed by the one thing he truly loved, and given his origin he wondered if that made him a narcissist.

The others from the New Angelic Order had approached him earlier with their concerns, as it was generally recognized that although he was flighty and unreliable, Balthazar had a closer relationship to Castiel than anyone else, plus he seemed to be able to get away with saying the most disrespectful of things without dying. _Well, so far anyway_.

Balthazar had laughed in their faces - he had no intention of tempting fate. _Again_, he thought with a quirk of his lips.

"We need to have a strategy meeting to decide our next strike against Raphael," said Balthazar, trying to get his boss back on track.

Castiel looked up, his face tear-streaked. "I... _can't_," he intoned, "There are other matters that demand my attention." He disappeared with a sound like a panic stricken flock of birds trying to escape the room.

Balthazar frowned, he couldn't think of any other place that Castiel needed to be right now. He knew the Winchesters were busy with some monster mother nonsense that seemed to be important to them, but at the moment they were driving cross country and hadn't called. He'd threaded part of his consciousness into the Impala so he could keep a close eye on them - what with the brothers being invisible to angelic eyes. He was quite proud of himself, he'd got the idea from an old detective show, _Who said you couldn't learn anything from crappy daytime TV?_

He'd been keeping a close eye on the brothers in case they should try to retaliate for what he'd try to get Sam to do to Bobby, plus they were often a shortcut into understanding what was going on with Castiel. Although in recent weeks he'd had the strangest feeling that his boss was making a point of keeping them at arm's length for some reason.

He wondered if Castiel was self-aware enough to realize just how unstable he'd now become and if he was scared that the brothers would pick up on it. Either that or he was hiding something, but if so it wasn't something Balthazar was privy to, which was worrying in its own way. _What could be so bad you wouldn't even tell your shady go-to guy?_

In a sign that the universe was thumbing its nose and laughing at him, it was at that exact moment he received the migraine-inducing head pounding that indicated he was being summoned by someone.

Arriving at the site of the summoning ritual he groaned inwardly when he realized it was those damn Winchester brothers again, although he guessed it wasn't too unexpected since they seemed to have him on speed dial these days.

He groaned outwardly when they told him what Castiel had been up to.

Still, he wanted to hear it from Castiel himself. It annoyed him that the two little humans didn't seem to appreciate the immense pressure Cas has been under, or the effectiveness of the work that as General of Heaven he'd done to keep the world safe from total destruction.

Although as much as it pained him to admit it, they did have a point - there was little point in saving the world from the old corrupt order of angels if you ended up destroying it yourself.

Still it hurt to always be on the outside of his master's affections, and for Castiel's favored beings to be so dismissive of him and ungrateful for what they had. He flew away from the Winchesters mid-conversation to think about what he needed to do next.

He realized with a sick, sinking feeling that he needed to confront his master face-to-face.

~#~

Balthazar found Castiel in a clearing deep in a forest far from any habitation, just staring up at the night sky.

"Dean likes to look at the stars. We used to spend hours sitting on his vehicle and looking up at them together. It was very... companionable," explained Castiel.

Balthazar had a sudden, overwhelming urge to scream and rant at him in anger and frustration. _How can I possibly be the creation of something so __**unworldly**__?_

All of a sudden it dawned on him why Heaven had decreed that Castiel's upbringing should be so sheltered. _Castiel was __**designed**__ to be the perfect __**broken**__ angel for any equally damaged Dean Winchester_. He didn't know if he should laugh or cry at the stupid beauty of it.

"Gramps, I know you love us, but you've _got_ to stop stacking the deck," he muttered in a quick prayer for guidance.

He turned to Castiel and called him several times before he got his attention, "Castiel, I need to know, are you _in flagrante_ with the King of Hades?"

Balthazar laughed so hard at Castiel's wide-eyed, earnest denials, that for a moment he almost tipped over into hysteria himself.

Castiel at least had the decency to look shamefaced to be caught lying, as he confessed all and explained his plans for the souls in Purgatory.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but it was the only way," whined Castiel, "I need to know. Are you with me or not?" he asked, and despite the piteous look he gave, there was no mistaking the steel in his voice or the underlying current of violence in his words.

Balthazar had listened with growing horror at Castiel's plans and it took every ounce of his self-control to not let it show on his face.

"Oh, you know you may be certifiable, but fine. 'In for a penny, in for a pound'," Balthazar said, lying through his teeth, with a fake chuckle and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. _And of course if I say 'not', I'm dead. Right, it's time those Winchesters earned their keep._

~#~

"No, I don't care what that _douche_ says, Cas wouldn't do that. He just wouldn't," argued Dean after Balthazar had departed.

Sam just stared at him with a level gaze.

Dean looked away, his mind a whirlpool of confused questions sucking him down into a morass of guilt and despair.

Why hadn't he questioned both Sam and Cas' sudden reappearance after such a long absence, and why had it taken him so long to notice their subsequent odd behavior?

Was he so blind that he couldn't tell he was surrounded by strangers wearing familiar faces?

Is it because he _can't_ discuss his feelings and so he doesn't believe it counts when his instincts _scream_ that something's wrong?

He remembered the moment when he'd looked at his brother and realized it was a stranger staring back at him from behind a Sam mask. It had scared him and upset his already unbalanced world, but he'd gone out, and although it'd been damn hard, he'd fixed it in the end.

Now when he looked at Cas it was like someone had taken an eraser to every aspect of the angel that Dean had known and... _loved?_

But he was out of ideas and he'd tried everything he could think of - he just couldn't get through to Cas. And that damn Winchester spine was just not made for bending, like with Sam and the demon blood, he _couldn't_ back down on something he _knew_ was wrong no matter how useful or necessary it might seem at the time.

Whatever it was Cas was doing, he had no idea how to stop it, but he wasn't ready to give up trying either. He would _never_ stop trying, because _Dammit, family don't stop with blood_.

Later he reflected that in an odd way the worst thing was that Cas had still helped him get Lisa and Ben back, which meant that the old Cas was still in there somewhere. In Dean's mind this made the fault his, that _he_ couldn't get through to his angel.

He'd looked at Cas' slumped shoulders, the dark smudges under the eyes and the air of abandonment and he wondered how he could've been such a self-absorbed and selfish bastard to have allowed it to get to this stage in the first place.

His minding jumping, he realized now that he loved Lisa more than he'd ever thought, but he loved her _too_ much to inflict himself on her any longer. A forked-tongued voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he didn't quite love her _enough_ to keep on fighting for her.

But with all the best will in the world it was just never gonna work and was only ever going to put her and Ben in danger. It wasn't the same with Cas - whatever it was between them, they were better together and he couldn't turn his back on his angel, not now he knew what the angel was going through.

Yeah, it was better all round that he'd cut his ties with the Braedens and let them just get on with their own lives. And if he was truthful with himself, he'd had more than his fair share of the apple pie life and it had turned out that it wasn't really to his taste.

He'd realized just in time that he preferred cherry.

~#~

Castiel received a sudden and urgent vision about Sam. He hadn't received a prophecy for a while and he'd forgotten how much it felt like a solid blow to the head.

Struggling to remain standing, he couldn't quite get a sense of what it was trying to tell him, other than a sense of urgency, so he tried his best to ignore it and just hope it would pass. After all, it wasn't as if he was welcome with the Winchester brothers right now.

The vision must have gone off searching for reinforcements, because it returned a moment later with a devastating migraine and graphic depictions of what was soon to become exploding brain matter - it was insistent that Sam's wall needed to come down. _Now!_

Castiel saw that it would appear to serve his purpose by effectively taking out one Winchester (albeit that he can foresee Sam will be fine again far sooner than seems possible), and thereby distracting the other. He felt a chill down his spine when he realized that Dean would _never_ believe that he only did this for Sam's benefit, he would always think that Cas meant them harm.

Dean without Sam wasn't Dean at all, and Castiel was nothing if not a martyr for the cause.

~#~

Castiel sent out a mental call and sat back to wait, watching how the light interacted and played through the jar of blood he held in his hands.

After a whole attitude-laden moment longer than necessary, Balthazar appeared with the sound of a manic fluttering of wings.

"You rang?" asked Balthazar in his best Lurch impression, despite knowing that Castiel wouldn't get the cultural reference.

Castiel looked at him for moment, his expression cold, "Hmm. We have a problem, Dean is on his way. Here. Now."

"Really? How'd he even know where we were?" Balthazar said, doing his best to sound surprised, but not managing to sound very convincing.

"Apparently we have a _Judas_ in our midst," Castiel said, putting down the jar of blood just out of Balthazar's reach.

"Ah, holy Hell. Who is it? I bet it's that bloody cherub, isn't it?" said Balthazar, his voice as tight as a drum, while trying and failing to sound breezy. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

"I don't know, but I need you to find out," said Castiel rising from his seat.

"Of course. Um, right away. Right away," he said with an almost audible sigh of relief, "Er, but what do you want me to do about Dean?"

"Nothing. I'll handle him myself," Castiel answered, his voice stiff as his turned his back on Balthazar.

Despite himself, Balthazar's heart dropped when he saw how broken and devastated his master appeared.

"Castiel? Are, are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft with sympathy and guilt at having caused Cas pain.

"First Sam and Dean, and now this. I'm doing my best in impossible circumstances. My friends, they abandon me, plot against me. It's difficult to understand."

"Well you've - you've always got little old me," Balthazar said, starting to reach out to comfort his master, his arm dropping as Castiel disappeared.

He looked down in shock at a sword protruding through his chest in an agonizing explosion of pain as he fell back into Castiel's waiting arms.

"Yes, I'll always have you," Castiel whispered as he held Balthazar in a tight but tender embrace while he reabsorbed the angel's grace.

Balthazar tried to speak, desperate to explain himself. There was so much he wanted to say, but in the end all he could manage was a single heartbroken groan while his eyes brimmed full with tears of longing and regret.

Castiel lowered Balthazar to the floor. As he stared down at the lifeless body of the angel he kept wiping at his face. He looked up for a moment at the ceiling, confused, wondering where the dripping water was coming from.

~#~

**Author notes:**

**I think that with this chapter it's my own heart I've broken…**


	8. It's the End of the World As We Know It

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Warnings: It only gets **_**worse**_**, a **_**lot**_** worse, are you **_**sure**_** you wouldn't be better off reading **_**The Littlest Elf**_**?**

**"It's the end of the world as we know it, but I feel fine..." – R.E.M.**

**Opheliac Angel Chapter Eight (It's the End of the World As We Know It)**

"So, you see, I saved you. You doubted me, fought against me, but I was right all along," smiled Castiel in forgiveness, as he stared across at Dean, drunk on the sheer power flooding through him.

His new strength was unbelievable, far beyond anything he'd experienced or expected; he could feel his body singing in harmony with the whole of creation. If only the purgatory souls would behave it would have been perfect, the _human_ souls he'd devoured in the past had always been reluctant, but still pliable. He wondered if it was due to their essential nature, these were after all the souls of every fanged and sharp-toothed nightmare that mankind had ever had. Fighting is what they were _for_.

Individually the souls were much weaker than him, but they kept banding together and swarming over him in vast numbers. He could feel them as they kicked and screamed in the back of his mind, growing louder and louder. He pushed them further back while he gloated on his success.

Raphael was dead, her physical remains spread in a fine mist of gore across the floor of the room in a fractal pattern quite pleasing to his eye, and Crowley had fled in the mistaken belief that there was anywhere in all of creation that Castiel could not see. He would be dealt with all in good time.

"Sure thing, Cas. Thank you. Now let's just defuse you, okay?" Dean said in a placating tone as if to a child, feeling a terrible dread, his heart in his mouth.

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to one side in a familiar gesture that made Dean's heart break.

"You're full of nuke. It's not safe. So, let's get them souls back to where they belong."

"Oh no, they belong with me now. Why do you want to weaken me? Why must you always put me down?" Castiel asked as he peered myopically at the hunter, looking for the stain of demonic possession. _Why else would Dean want to act against me?_

"After everything that I have done for you and your brother, after saving humanity, why do you still find it so hard to keep believing in me?" Castiel asked.

"All of you have turned against me," Castiel continued, "Everywhere I look I'm surrounded by enemies trying to drag me down. But now _I_ have the power and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

"You think this is the way I wanted to be? I did all of this for _you_," the angel screamed at the expression of horror on Dean's face, his eyes rolling with madness as he struggled to keep himself under control.

"Listen to me," said Dean, "Listen, I know there's a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were like family once. I'd have died for you. Please. I've lost Lisa, I've lost Ben, and now I've lost Sam. Don't make me lose you too. You don't need this anymore, Cas. Get rid of it before it kills us all," Dean begged in desperation, no longer recognizing the person in front of him.

"You're just saying that because I won. Because you're _afraid_. You're not my family, Dean. I have no family," Castiel cried in despair, half out of his mind with the power of the souls and having only heard the phrase 'like family _once'_.

Distracted from speaking to Dean, Castiel only became aware of Sam as the younger Winchester ran him through with an angel killing sword.

_After everything I've done_, he thought as he pulled the sword from his back, _I brought Sam back from Hell and thanks to me he's now fixed, and still I've ended up being stabbed in the back by the Winchesters. I do love them, but surely there's a limit to how much I can be expected to take?_

One of the purgatory souls, the obvious leader, took advantage of his mental turmoil and swept in wresting control of his vessel from him in a strange form of partial possession.

Castiel could sense himself speaking and he could feel his mouth moving, but the sound and meaning of the words escaped him. Struggling to regain control felt like he was walking upstream through a freezing river - it made him think of a vacation in Niagara and he realized that he'd never been, that it was someone else's memory.

Through eyes he no longer controlled he could see Dean, Sam and Bobby looking at him in openmouthed shock and he had an appalling sensation of laughing hysterically in panic, although no sound left his mouth.

More and more of the souls pushed up against him, eroding his control further. _I'm losing myself_, he thought, _They're sweeping me away. I'm drowning in a sea of evil souls and there's no one to save me._

He looked up at Dean with pleading eyes, but the hunter's face was hard and unyielding, the muscles in his cheek jumping.

_Oh, please help me_, he begged silently.

The swarm of souls within him rose up in a sudden concerted effort and pulled him under.

Castiel flailed in the darkness of his own mind, striking out at the things moving and swarming and _oozing_ around him. He was glad of the dark; there were hideous things out there in the gloom, things that not even an angel should ever have to see. Castiel felt a keen, paralyzing terror as he tried to bury his consciousness ever deeper in an attempt to hide, but it was too late and he felt his sanity on the point of breaking.

With his back to a metaphysical wall, he fought with determined effort and regained control of his vessel piece by piece until there was only one thing in his way of total control. The leader and driving force behind the attack on him was a huge, writhing mass of fleshy tentacles that was lit with a pallid green glow emanating from within its own body. The beast rounded on him.

"Ah, the angel, still feeling limp?" she mocked.

"Eve," he responded in shocked recognition.

"Didn't think about where I would go when you killed me, did you? You're too late! I've already had my revenge," she laughed and laughed until Castiel dealt her a killing blow.

His body suddenly his own again he stumbled over someone's leg. Without thinking he mumbled an automatic apology as he fell to his knees. Turning he realized that it was Dean lying prone on the ground that he had tripped over. He looked on in horror at the torn and twisted body of his friend.

He pulled Dean up into his arms as he struggled in vain to heal him. He turned to Sam and Bobby who were in defensive poses, weapons drawn on him with grim expressions.

"What happened?" he demanded, the words coming out in an almost-shriek.

"_You did_, when he wouldn't kneel to you," said Bobby.

"What? No, that wasn't me, it was Eve. She possessed me."

Hearing the angel's words, Dean returned to consciousness to find himself in Cas' lap. The angel was looking down at him in concern, but now looking like the Cas he knew, and it was as if a blockage had been cleared and a huge backlog of emotion came pouring out in a massive deluge of pain and anguish and love.

The pain of Sammy's loss, the restlessness of his absence that had stopped him from settling with Lisa and Ben. Sacrificing their love and companionship. The betrayal by Samuel, by Sammy, then finally by Cas. It had all been too much - all rolled up tight in his chest like a heavy cancerous stone, poisoning him all the while dragging him down, down.

With sudden insight he realized that all this time he had been keeping people at arm's distance at best, at worst he'd pushed people away. Why hadn't he called for Cas, why hadn't he even picked up the phone and checked that Bobby was ok, the guy who was like a goddamn father to him?

He realized that he'd been broken for a long time now, incapable of making that initial leap of faith and to actually reach out to someone. He'd waited and waited for everyone else to make the first move - and life just doesn't work like that. Everyone had seen what a shitty life he'd led, the sacrifices and the pain he'd been through and no one had wanted to be the one to drag him back to that life. They'd missed him, but they'd been relieved that he'd not contacted them, taking it as evidence that he was happy at long last, earning the long overdue rewards of the life he'd always deserved. And he'd read it as betrayal, what a douche he must be. _From now on_, he decided, _things are gonna change_.

"Cas? You're back. I knew it couldn't be you. I'm sorry I was so rough on you," he rasped despite the agony of his injuries. He grabbed hold of his angel's hand, seeking comfort, knowing that everything was going to be alright now.

"No, Dean. No, I should have listened, I should've found another way to defeat Raphael," Castiel responded still trying in vain to find the means to heal the hunter's wounds. _Why isn't it working?_ he thought in desperation.

A low rattling sound escaped Dean's throat and he struggled to blink against the drops of water splashing onto his upturned face. Eyes glazed in pain he still managed a small confused smile at Castiel.

"Is it... raining?" he asked with a fading breath.

"No," screamed Castiel.

~#~

Officer Steve Reardon wasn't too worried when he first saw the vagrant in the shadows of the alley; it was a sad, but all too common sight these days, the mad, the vulnerable and the dispossessed left to fend for themselves in these times of hardship. For the last couple of months with the endless natural disasters and rising civil disobedience the world had seemed to be going to Hell in a handcart - you knew things were bad when even the atheists started to speak of the End of Days in hushed tones.

As the figure drew nearer, Reardon could see that the man's clothes hung from him in tatters, his black hair and full beard were long and matted, and he had piercing blue eyes that rolled in their sockets. The stench was overpowering, and it was only at the last minute that the cop reached for his firearm as he recognized the smell he always _dreaded_, the smell that wasn't just unwashed body.

"Do not look at me for I have sinned," mumbled the vagrant in gravel-like tones, as he started to stumble away without seeming to notice the officer.

Officer Reardon raised his weapon, "Stop, police!"

"My beloved had beautiful eyes, they're the window of the _soul_, y'know," babbled the vagrant to himself and the officer could see that he was shielding something _large_ with his body.

"What are you carrying?" barked Reardon, with a rising sense of dread.

"Have you seen him? I cannot wake him," moaned the man in agitation, as it became clear he held the remains of a man, cradled like a child, against his chest.

The vagrant's face twisted in anguish, tears running in rivulets down his face, as he staggered towards the police officer, "My beloved has gone because I failed him. I seek, but I cannot find; I call, but he does not answer."

For the briefest moment the vagrant's madness seemed to clear and he caught Reardon's eyes in a gaze that seemed to see right down into the officer's soul, "All that power at my command, more even that the sun, and it can't even heal so much as a _scratch_. All I can do is destroy," growled the vagrant in a voice thick with pain and despair.

Reardon felt an ice cold chill run down his spine and his hair stood on end, his instincts shrieking at him to turn and flee for his life. He had never in all his years on the beat felt so threatened, let alone by someone who looked so innocuous.

Failing to control his sudden overwhelming feelings of terror, Reardon had called a half-dozen warnings and emptied a full clip into the vagrant before his partner, back from his coffee and donuts run, managed to call for backup as the vagrant kept coming.

It was only when the SWAT team arrived that the vagrant started _smiting_ and didn't stop until, with a blast of cold white light, he vaporized the globe.

~#~

The writer sat at his computer typing out the final words of his story. He shook his head in annoyance that despite his best efforts the characters were still insistent on getting away from him.

"Come on, Cas" he urged, "I gave you everything you needed to get to the ending you wanted," he said tutting.

"I think I need to go back to the beginning with this one," the writer muttered to himself.

"Isn't that cheating?" asked the thin, to the point of skeletal, older man in the dark suit who had just appeared in the blink of an eye and was sat eating at the kitchen table.

The author turned, "Hmm, I don't see you for ages, and now it seems like you're there every time I turn around. Should I be worried?"

The thin man merely smiled in response before adding, "You didn't answer my question."

"Rules were meant to be broken," the author dismissed, as he printed out the pages he'd written.

"They don't seem to have a great deal of faith in you, despite all you do for them. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Nah, that's just families, isn't it? Anyway, they need the space to make their own mistakes," dismissed the author, smiling.

"Well, somebody's a lot less wrathful than they used to be," observed the thin man, tucking in to spaghetti and meatballs from a take-out carton.

"Oh, I'm saving it up for the finale, don't you worry," said the author, more to himself than his companion, with a sudden, uncharacteristic steel-like glint in his eye. He looked up and grinned at the thin man, twisting the printed pages he held and wrapping the end back into the beginning.

"I'm going a bit non-linear with this one... _again_," he explained as the pages glowed white-hot for a second, before disappearing.

"Are you _sure_ you're not just making this up as you go along?" asked the thin man, narrowing his eyes.

~#~

It was long after the remainder of the universe had been reaped and even Death himself had departed back to the realm of the Outer Gods; the eternal slumbering entities who had created him.

Only the god Castiel remained floating in the void at the end of time, in a place that could only be described as _no-where_ and _no-when_. With only the memory of all the mistakes it had made playing over and over in its mind to keep it company, it had been insane for many long, long aeons.

"_...go back to the beginning with this one_," the universe seemed to whisper, waking the god Castiel from its reverie.

Detecting the presence of another being, the god Castiel babbled happy nonsense as it poured all of its own existence and grace into the blasted molecules of an earnest, naïve young angel. As they started to combine into a single, more powerful, being they flew back through time, back to the beginning.

"Are you God?" the young angel asked in awe as dead stars burst back into life around him.

The god Castiel shrugged... and this time _shook_ its head. Reality teetered as, after so many loops, something _different_ was happening this time round.

The young angel frowned in confusion, "Oh. How may I serve?" he prayed.

This time divine instruction took the form of _three_ words.

"_Go to_ Dean," said the god Castiel, before it was absorbed into the young angel.

Castiel cried out in pure joy as his being resonated in time to the _command_ that he already carried in his heart.

**THE END**

~#~

**Author notes:**

**I hope, after ending the world and all, you're all still fine…**

**I'm slightly stunned that after choosing to name this after an R.E.M. song they choose today to split up…**

_**The Littlest Elf**_** is a fictional book invented by Lemony Snicket.**

**The vagrant scene is very heavily based on **_**The Song of Solomon**_**.**

**The Elder Gods belong to HP Lovecraft, or is that the other way round? I'm never quite sure...**

**And yes, Cas brought **_**himself**_** back from the dead. Someone far more intelligent than me once said that time is a "**_**big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff**_**". So there.**

**(;,;)**


End file.
